Fiction:The Prophet Stone

The Prophet Stone
Date	31 NA 19-25 NA (flashbacks)
Place	Tropical Lands
Protagonist(s)	Javina Desertsun
Antagonist(s)	Various

“Thus I was told: beneath the Dragon's Wings, in the Mountains from the Skies, laid the Prophet Stone. And like ten thousand suns it shone indeed, white as pure as the brilliance of the stars; and who gazed unto it would see fates of all, as clearly as if he gazed into pure waters. Whosoever could find the stone was destined indeed: but was this destiny fair or ill? No man knew that.”

- A fragment from the Saga of Luntaynor

The Tropical Lands, to the south of the human kingdoms, are a land of many, many legends, myths, and sagas. It is said that if one was ever to write down every single tale that was ever told in this exotic and untamed land by wise men, every myth recanted daily by the priests of the many ancient gods of this realm, on paper, they together would fill a thousand of libraries, dwarfing all the literary works of mankind and elvenkind with their magnitude. I once believed this to be an exaggeration, nothing but empty boasting. It is only natural for people to see their home as somehow superior or unique, after all... isn't it?

When I first stepped onto the soil of the Tropical Lands, when I felt the warmth of the southern sun, when I saw the land's people working underneath that sun, relishing in its rays, I understood: I was wrong. By Pheonas, I was wrong. Everything that was said about the South's myths, everything that I first dismissed, it was true. Not only there were indeed as many legends there as I was told by my acquaintances (I would not dare to say the word "friends" - that is too lofty a title), most of them - if not all of them... were not legends after all. The stories of gigantic snakes devouring horses, men and drakes alike? I saw one with my own eyes. Tales of a burning isle of fire and brimstone where a dead god from the seas slept? I witnessed it awaken.

But there was another legend, another saga that by Pheonas's holy will I had to prove true. Shortly after the aforemented... incident with the dead god, my master issued to me and a partner of mine a mission to find out the truth behind the legendary Prophet Stone, a massive rock embedded in a mountain that according to the Freelander Saga of Luntaynor could grand one visions of things yet to come. And as always, I shall not fail the Elder-Commander. Such is the vow of Inquisitor Javina, servant to Mankind, hand of the Empire, scion of house Desertsun.

Entry One: Bahamut, 12, 31 NA

Should I introduce myself?

I suppose not. These little notes of mine are of no significance for the generations to come, or for anyone from this age for that matter. For who am I? Merely one of the many. What is the number of those faceless, nameless inquisitors clad in black that every day hold an endless vigil to protect mankind? Have you ever seen a Klaxxa watchwork doll on the inside? It is an endless labyrinth of rusted cogs, screws and intricate mechanisms, all intertwined in some twisted concordance that creates a living, breathing thing. We are these mechanisms, hidden deep beneath a puppet's porcelain flesh - essential, but unseen. No, we are not the ones for whom glory is destined... and I find it better that way. Being good with people is hardly my speciality. For me, love for humanity has replaced the love for individual humans.

No, the only person I write this diary for is me. Ego. Hello, Javina? How does it feel there, always on the edge of the abyss? It feels great, as always! But enough contemplations. Let me tell you about today's ordeal with lord I'kan the Golden first.

It all began innocuously, like all strange things did in history, from the foundation of the world to its inevitable demise. I was striding atop my loyal faeles, Arya, through the Snakeblood Wilds towards the city state of Senateca, one of those few oases of civilisation that the Freelanders have managed to create in their poisonous, deadly home. My mission: to find out the whereabouts of the aforemented Prophet Stone. Did it truly exist? If it had existed once, had it survived the ravages of time? What powers did it truly contain in reality, not in myth? That I did not know. But, as always, my master was adamant. If lord Crimsonstone wanted something, he would have it; thus was the law of life, of existence itself, and I've learned to accept it, as I have learned to accept the fact that his judgement was always sound. I would have probably dismissed a suggestion to find a magical stone from an ancient legend as foolish if it was someone else, not him, that gave me such an order... but lord Crimsonstone did not make mistakes. The stone did exist, and it was of use to mankind.

My first step to the streets of Senateca was met with the opulent brilliance of its golden pyramids, the aureate radiance of the hot tropical sun - not harsh and deadly like in Alhassal but rather warm and caring - and of course the confused, scared looks of the city's copper-skinned natives. Kani'xat, they called themselves, the free men - and I doubt there could be a more fitting moniker for them. They were people of a peculiar and rare sort: friendly, open to the world, but at the same time, separate from it, and arrogant - arrogant to the point that no man or woman could ever unite all of them, despite them living in a land that was twice smaller than Alhassan and only marginally larger than l'Ammanori. The free men would not stand to bend their knee to anyone - not to one of them, not to one of us Imperials. I saw it in their eyes, the moment when they noticed the Inquisition's insignia on my clothing. Mistrust. Confusion. Loathing. Terror. They hated us, hated us for supposedly being warmongers and conquerors; they feared us, feared that we would take their freedom... and yet, we were kin - closer than anyone else in Koldenwelt. In a sense, I feel the same for them too. So close, and distant, they were.

I should have probably disguised myself, or at least dressed more in accordance to the Freelander fashion (I never understood their love for revealing clothing - what is the point of showing off your body? Flaunting your sins is above me), but in retrospect, this probably would not have mattered. No matter what dress I would take on, I would not pass off as one of their own. Being a Freelander, lord I'kan told me, is not in how you look but in how you act; my poise, my eyes, he said, would still reveal my Imperial soul to them. That, and Alfgund, ever my companion, would give me away anyway, with all his militant bravado. It has happened over a million times already: I try to approach the situation strategically, and then - voila - in he comes, swinging his mace and proclaiming his hatred for his enemies of mankind! Alas, for all his strength, all his zeal and loyalty, the man would never understand subtlety. Did lord Crimsonstone not tell him that fear and surprise are the chief weapons of every inquisitor? (Ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the Empire, and nice black uniforms matter too, but that is beyond this discussion)

Finally, after an exhausting and somewhat disturbing ceremony of ritual anointment and purification - I can still smell the agonising stench of the Freelanders' so-called sacred oils - I was at very long last deemed pure enough to be granted audience with the Lord of Senateca, in his shining pyramidal palace; Alfgund remained near the gates to secure me an exit if need be. As I ascended upon the gigantic limestone stairs and reached the obsidian chamber in the pinnacle, I finally met the man himself, resting upon an aureatw throne surrounded by decorated images of his pagan gods, draped luxuriously in silk and gold from faraway lands; an ideal, if there was one, of Freelander love for splendor and excess. I'kan greeted me heartily, wasting all the time he could on praises, sweet-talking and incessant questions about the outside world; even as he spoke, his brilliant smile of silver never disappeared from his proud face, as if it was painted on him. I too smiled, though for a reason that was completely different; I was amused by the lord himself. How little had he changed from when I last met him! A child of a nobleman, he was from birth taught duties becoming a royal, yet his heart, in envy of me and others like me, had always yearned for adventure and journey, not governance and power. Alas, he was only to judge, rule and tax the heroes of his people, growing ever richer and more frustrated. When the young lord saw me enter his room, he attacked me like a parasitic insect, though instead of blood, he craved for tales and stories that I always brought to him from my many crusades and missions. And I was not the only one; this Freelander lord had been a benefactor for countless adventurers, travelers and treasure hunters, providing them from Senateca's coffers and reliquaries all they could need on their adventures. I think I understand the man. He hoped - and still hopes - that by aiding adventurers and then writing down the tales of their journeys, he could become something of an adventurer himself.

- Goodness gracious me, is it the most legendary Javina of house Desertsun, scion of Alhassal whose blade cuts down those whom the Empire calls enemies in the name of the five-faced god of the desert? - he started, his words ringing in my ears like the buzzing of tropical flies. I'kan loved drama and pomp. Oh, Asv'aldz be praised, only a few moons have passed since we last met, yet here you are again, with tales of glory and valour! Allow me to gaze upon you, milady. - I'kan approached, placing his hand on my cheek. Almost immediately I pushed him away and slapped him. We knew each other, yes, but there were still limits: no-one could touch my face like this. Ah! Oh, what a pity it would be if that pretty Imperial face of yours was bruised by some hellish monstrosity the likes of which you slay on a daily basis. Rumours say that you have recently faced and slain an ancient god of fire and brimstone on an isle south from here. Is that true?
- Partially. - I responded. We did wake it... and it went downhill from there. But now is not the time for stories, I'kan. I have more urgent matters to discuss. Are you familiar with the Saga of Luntyanor?
- Why of course, lady Desertsun. You will not find an educated Freelander who is at least marginally familiar with this great work, and I, as you can tell, is among the most knowing of my people. But what is urgent in that tale? It's just a legend, lady Desertsun... certainly nothing you would be interested in...
- Indeed I wouldn't, under normal circumstances... but, lord Crimsonstone has reasons to believe that this legend is not mere fictions, and I have reasons to believe him. The legendary Prophet Stone, where Luntyanor the Feathered One foresaw his destiny... does it exist? If there is anyone who can know the whereabouts of this object, it is you, one of the keenest loremasters of the Tropical Lands. Does the Saga tell anything about its location?
- Eh... What?

I'kan's face immediately transformed into a grimace of confusion and surprise, so unlikely for the ever-cheerful Freelander lord. My question was without doubt shocking to him despite the seemingly innocous nature of my inquiry; his voice turned into a stutter, his arms shook like if he was struck by thunder and in his eyes was the look of such stupefaction and terror that my writing skills would be inadequate to describe it on paper, parchment or vellum. With a sudden, lightning-fast movement of his arms and strength that I would never expect from a spoiled, romantic aristocrat a head shorter than myself, the lord grabbed me by the arms and carried me to the chamber right behind his throne. I was too confused to struggle or to properly analyse the surroundings, but from the brief and sparse moments of lucidity I had I neverthless did manage to recognise the place the lord pushed me into. It was his private library, the one I'kan was so often speaking about. Dark, hot and damp even by Freelander standards, it was dimly lit with all sorts of lights from many different nations of Koldenwelt: intricate golden candelabres from my homeland, elegant oil lamps from the Dynasty with their exotic and soothing aroma, arcane fey lanterns of the Sovereign that shone with an iridiscent, alien glow - even the grey paraffin lamps from Ar-Klith were present in this strange rendezvous of civilisations. The books that laid on limestone blocks were likewise an unlikely convocation of countless literary works from all continents; the damnable elven vellums of Iudeili or Aurelius laying on top of the sacred tomes of Alhassal the Great himself! What kind of blasphemy was this?

Suddenly I was awakened from my barely conscious state by a shake from I'kan; immediately I rose to my feet and drew my scimitar, prepared to fight. Yet, strangely as it could seem considering what he did the moment before that, the Freelander lord seemed to bear no ill intentions; in his eyes, I saw no malevolence, no hatred: only the same intelligent and dreamy, if tainted somewhat by fear, stare that I'kan usually sported. Finally, he started to speak. His tone was weary, confused - I could tell that something in my request touched him so deeply that he could barely even form coherent sentences.

- ...Listen, lady Desertsun, I do not know how your master managed to even... imagine that the Prophet Stone truly exists... eh... legends... oh, how stupid is that... but... but... yes. He is right. - I'kan raised his head and looked at me in the eyes - I and some other lords of Freelander City States have been trying to find it... for decades. The power it possesses, the power to gaze unto the future would allow one to grow richer than even lady A'haw the Opulent herself... Not everyone believes it, of course, but I... I know. I'm known as the Loremaster Lord, after all, and I've been studying legends for decades. I saw it, in fact. Once. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. Warriors, standing at my side. A stone, shining so bright that I could not look at it. Visions, visions of the future I could not barely even understand... blades, claws, warriors and sorcerers... and then I saw it. A dragon, so powerful, so terrible. The White Seer of the Saga, the one that tested Luntyanor the Feathered. It gazed at us. We ran in fear. It breathed. All of my men perished. It was only I alone that this monster spared - but was it because he did not notice me in the chaos or because he allowed me to live? I do not know. What I know is that I was not worthy, not like Luntyanor... and nor am I now. Nor are any of the Freelander lords.
- And what if I am?
- Laconic as always, lady Desertsun, aren't you? Luntyanor too came from foreign lands, it is said. I would entrust you with the information about the Stone... but... are you truly sure that you Imperials have the inner fire to withstand it? Only those whose souls are pure white inside can - thus it is said in the Saga. And it does not lie.
- The Empire will take care of it, I assure you. And... Senateca will benefit from the Grand Monarch's generosity once the stone is found. - I smiled. Slowly, I'kan's face once again transformed. He, like so many other Freelander lords, had a weakness; greed.
- ...Yes. Here is tha map. - for a few moments, I'kan vanished in the darkness of his chambed and returned with a thin, tablet-sized stone codex, made of green, granite-like rock and inscribed with countless Freelander symbols and signs that made it resemble an arcane runestone more than a map had it not been for the thin, barely visible outlines of the Tropical Lands' geography. Still, I could make some sense of it; thankfully for my companions, I knew the Freelanders' tongue and their hieroglyphic writing. - A bit heavy compared to Imperial scrolls, but you can carry it. There are my notes on the codex that will explain the map to you... if you manage to endure the trials on the way, of course.
- I endured worse. - I said, quietly turning away from I'kan and making my leave - Numquam cademus, Freelander. May Pheonas protect you.